Cutting Our Losses
by Foxieglove
Summary: As the Brotherhood finds a place to lay low after the events in 'Backlash', Toad's place on the team is questioned. Hints of slash.


Was it too much to ask for just a _little_ peace and quiet?

Pietro grumbled, able to hear the shouting from outside as he covered up the jeep. He'd stolen the tarp off some fancy little Italian number a few blocks away. It was barely big enough to cover the plates, but it would do in a pinch. With their headquarters outed to the MRD, Pietro'd had to find a safe house. Wisely he'd steered them clear of warehouses and abandoned buildings, the first places the MRD would check, and after about an hour searching the uptown and lower uptown districts, he'd finally struck gold.

The house had been left by its occupants for an extended vacation. They'd stopped their mail and newspaper, but had left all the lights in the house on; just a little suspicious for three in the morning. While it didn't look like much from outside, Mr. and Mrs. Osborne had the best home security system that money could buy, which Pietro had found the code for in less than four seconds. Too bad they didn't have an empty garage or Pietro wouldn't have had to waste his time looking around for a damned tarp.

It would serve them for a couple of nights - that is, if everyone kept quiet. _Someone's_ voice was raised however, and Pietro was going to give them hell over it. A stuffy neighborhood like this usually had a noise ordinance.

He zipped in through the front door, letting the current shut it behind him, and into the Osbornes' living room. "What is going on in here?" he demanded sharply.

Neena glanced up at him from a recliner where she had curled up with a blanket. "Ugh. Dominic and Mort are having it out somewhere upstairs. Please let me shoot them."

"Not tonight. I'll handle it," Pietro said lowly. Neena gratefully dropped her head back onto the recliner's cushioned padding and closed her eyes.

He could hear the thundering snore of Dukes from a bedroom down the hall. Up above, Dominic's deep voice was competing with Mort's reedy interruptions.

"Here we go," Pietro sighed wearily and less than a second later he was standing on the top landing, arms crossed and glowering at his arguing team members.

Mort didn't even glance in his direction, all his attention on Dominic. "I am not, and you _know_ it!"

"Ha. Then who is it exactly that has to keep saving your ass from the MRD?"

"You haven't had to do that for weeks! I - I stayed clear this time! They haven't captured me at all!"

"So that net pinning you to the wall back there was ah, special effects? Oh, and all the screaming for them to stop firing at us. You were just joking, yes?" Dominic jeered.

Pietro rolled his eyes. "Okay guys, guess what," he began, and was ignored completely.

"You're pathetic, Toad. One day we're gonna-"

"What, leave me? You're gonna leave me or kick me out? I know that! You think I don't know that already?!" Mort snapped back, sounding a little hysterical. "I mess up and I'm out. I get the message, thank you!"

"Uh, inside voices please?" Pietro suggested flatly. And they were still ignoring him. Unbelievable. An argument this stupid was really more important than their leader standing a few feet away?

"So then why do you keep messin' up, Toad?!" Dominic yelled.

"Hey, get off my back man! I don't need this crap right now!" Mortimer returned, matching him in volume.

That was it. Pietro zipped away for a moment and then returned with something grayish in his hands.

"You don't need it? Then go! Door's that way!"

"I don't have to take this from you --" Mort didn't have the opportunity to finish that sentence.

"What do --" Dominic didn't either.

Each touched the strip of duct tape over their mouths in confused agitation.

"AHEM," Pietro announced, holding up the thick roll for their benefit. Just in case they were wondering. "Gonna shut the hell up now and listen, or am I gonna have to attach the both of you to Blob's _feet?_"

In varied states of alarm, Mortimer and Dominic shook their heads. And now, he had their full attention.

"I was going to ask what this was about, but I think I've heard enough. You," Pietro started, pointing at Mortimer. The green mutant's fingers immediately tried to peel the duct tape away, and Pietro slapped them down harshly.

Ignoring Mort's pained whimper as he shook the sting out of his hands, Pietro continued.

"You are a disgrace to this team, Toynbee. The good news is that you can't get any worse, and so you can only move _up_ from the place you're currently at. We are going to work on that the next available opportunity and you are _not_ going to enjoy one millisecond of it. Don't like it? I'll repeat what Avalanche said. Door is that way."

Unable to say a word in his defense, Mort's shoulders slumped. He'd gone from rubbing the back of his hands to wringing them nervously and leaving little red lines from his claws. Quicksilver could see he was near the breaking point and relented.

"Just go to whatever room you picked out and get some sleep," he dismissed. Mortimer wasted no time. Pietro waited until a door down the hall opened and shut and then turned to Avalanche.

"You know, I should try duct tape more often," he said, smirking.

Dominic did not look amused so again Pietro relented; he reached up and ripped it off the man's face. The result was much swearing in Greek followed by an alarmed inventory of mustache hair. Unfortunately, Avalanche could not be deterred from his earlier grievance.

"Why is he still on the team? Why do you coddle him?"

"Excuse me? What part of that was coddling?" Pietro asked, quirking an eyebrow.

"You know what I mean. That boy is useless. I was with you all the way when I thought you were going to leave him in jail - but all of a sudden he is back on the team? Why?"

"Toad's got a few rough spots, but I think we can work on those -"

"Not while running from Sentinels! You _saw_ him in battle tonight - what did he do other than curl up on the ground and cower?" Dominic growled. "He is an embarrassment to us. So _why_, Pietro? Give me a reason."

"You want a reason? Okay. I'll give you a reason. You saw him in battle."

"What?"

"I said you saw him in battle. You saw him cowering and afraid, but you still _saw_ him."

". . . I don't follow."

"I can see that," Pietro said wryly. "He _was_ terrified, he _was_ useless, and through the whole thing? He was _right beside us_. We were about to lose, and he was still right there beside us. Get it now?"

"He kept asking for retreat -"

"Yeah, for _everyone _to retreat. Could've left without us. Didn't."

Dominic looked thrown off for a moment, but quickly rallied. "And so that's the reason? He freaks out, yet he does it nobly? Doesn't change the fact he was completely worthless out there!"

"Uh . . . and just what was he supposed to do against a bunch of Sentinels? Jump around and spit on them? Climb on them, lick them, sing annoying Eminem songs?"

His last defense shot down, Dominic snorted. "Could've done _something_. Maybe thrown a big rock," he continued, for argument's sake.

"See, I don't think you would've appreciated that, with your head still attached to your body and everything." Pietro smiled sweetly. Dominic glowered at him.

"Whatever. If you are done, I am going to bed."

He sounded unaffected, but Pietro knew he'd given the Greek something to think on. Loyalty was a big thing to Avalanche, as much as he tried to downplay it. Now he realized Toad would die by their side if it came down to that. Toynbee might not _want_ to, he might throw a big tantrum about it, but he would do it. He'd do it for many reasons, one in particular.

Pietro watched the man go to his room then glanced further down the hall.

He was surprised, but not really, when Mort's door suddenly clicked all the way shut. Pietro walked over quietly, able to hear the sound of someone lying on a mattress and rearranging the covers to make it look as though they had not in fact been eavesdropping, but in bed the entire time.

He pushed the door open, almost too late to catch Toynbee in the act of curling on his side under the sheets, then approached the bedside and watched him. Having taken off the duct tape and now facing the wall, Mort seemed to be debating whether or not to fake snores. It wouldn't have worked anyway; his back was entirely too tense for someone genuinely asleep.

Pietro lightly touched Mort's shoulder and felt him flinch. His poorly made illusion of sleep was shattered and he knew it. When Pietro sat on the edge of the bed, Mortimer reluctantly shifted to make room for him.

"I know . . . I know where the door is," a very soft, very low voice gulped after what seemed like a long silence. "You don't have to show me."

"That won't happen," Pietro promised.

He reached over Mort and took a hold of his wrist, pulling his hand away from the kid's chest. Toynbee squirmed, knowing what was coming next, even before Pietro saw the red scratches on the back of his hand.

Mort was unfortunately not a nail-biter. If he had been, he wouldn't have developed the nervous habit of digging his claws into the flesh of his hand and dragging them until they broke skin. He didn't seem to realize when he did it. The fingerless gloves helped with this unconscious urge, otherwise Mort's hands would've been a wreck by now. It was also unfortunate that he'd taken those off before bed.

Pietro studied the current damage and knew he'd have to put on some antiseptic goop, since Mort's answer to all surface wounds was to lick them. That would mean another hour, added on top of a long night, spent trying to keep Mort still and quiet under forced medical treatment in an unfamiliar bathroom. As if reading his mind, Toynbee pulled his hand back to hide against his chest.

"Not tonight," Pietro agreed, soothing him. His fingers traced the line of Mort's jaw once and then he pulled away before they could travel on down the side of his throat. Mortimer, who'd tilted his head to encourage it, reached up and gripped Pietro's hand.

"Stay?" he pleaded.

Pietro caught the insecurity and fear in his voice. "I thought you listened to me talk to Avalanche."

"Yes," Mort admitted.

"And?" He snorted when he felt Mortimer shrug against him. "What do you mean you don't know? You heard me. I'm not saying it all again just for your benefit."

"Yeah, I heard. You -You deserve someone m-more useful," Mort said, so softly Pietro almost didn't hear him. "I can't even keep you safe."

As usual, Mort had heard the wrong thing.

"You don't have to. I should be keeping _you _safe. We should all be safe in Genosha because _you_ are not a fighter. You never were. I shouldn't need you to be one."

He'd wanted Toad to be, at first. When he had found the kid, he'd taught him to use his powers, indoctrinated the same teachings about homo superior that his father had taught him, tried to make him hate those flat scanners who'd persecuted him all his life.

Pietro had wanted to turn Toynbee into a force to be reckoned with so he could show Magneto what his son could do.

That had been a mistake. He'd made Mort part of his team and therefore part of his 'failure' and Magneto had not hesitated to cut them all off as one. His father hadn't offered any of them the chance to come to Genosha.

And Mortimer - who tore his hands up when stressed, who was so good at hiding any sign he'd ever cried when Pietro _knew_ someone had been too cruel to him, who had recurring nightmares about waking up in an MRD cell or on the freezing ground of an alley - needed to be in Genosha more than anyone. It was too late now. Even if Magneto had made such an offer to the rest of the Brotherhood, Toynbee wouldn't have gone without him.

Pietro could feel Mort going to sleep against him, calmed that he still belonged there for one more night at least. No, Mortimer wouldn't have traded up for something that was in fact much better for him. And it was so _wrong_ that he wouldn't.

He listened to Mort's breathing as morning light slowly crept in around the blinds, and swore that if he ever got the chance to remedy this, he'd unselfishly take it.


End file.
